12 Hours
by Jacinda
Summary: An FBI profiler is brought to Vegas to help Grissom, Nick, and Sara solve a string of casino bombings sequel to Stolen - NS PG13 for language- FIN
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: A few months back, I started writing this story, but I came to hate how I wrote it. I started over and am much more pleased with this attempt. This is kind of a sequel to Stolen (also posted on ).

I'm still working on Aureus and Abby, but it's been very slow going. I'm conflicted as to how to finish both stories.

Happy reading, Jac.

* * *

Every time I come to this city I have a gun held to my head. My chest feels heavy. The man looks my eyes. His eyes are a crystal blue that I have never seen before. I don't see any remorse as he moves the gun from my head to that of the businessman next to me and the young man next to him. The businessman begins to tell our assailant about his two daughters. I hear the click of the trigger. My stomach begins to sink into my feet. I close my eyes and say a short prayer. The sound of the gun firing is deafening. I feel blood against my skin. It's still so warm. For a moment, I wonder if I am alive. I hear the man next to me crumple to the floor. I open my eyes and wonder why I'm still alive.

Alex's POV:

It has been a year since I was in Vegas. It has been a very long year since I had been in Vegas. I tried not to think about Glen Campbell, Sara Sidle, and Nick Stokes. I tried my damnedest to forget that I shot Glen; that one year ago Glen was dead at my feet.

My year had been busy. I had spent a total of ten weeks in my home in Los Angeles. I spent most of my time being loaned out to different police departments across the country. It seemed like everyone needed forensic profilers this year; I attributed it to the media, especially CourtTV. My boss, Jeremy, said that sending me all over the country was the best form of advertising. He said that I should look at it as a compliment. He said that I am gifted; I should share my gift. I did share my gift. I helped recover two kidnapped girls before they were murdered. I brought to justice two bombers, two kidnappers, and ten murderers. It wasn't a bad year for me professionally.

Personally, I found myself in shambles. I found myself dreaming of Glen; I can still close my eyes and picture Glen holding a gun to Sara's head. I looked for solace in the anonymity of hotel rooms. I didn't find it.

It was one year later, and I found myself on a plane headed back to Las Vegas. Grissom had called me several times in the last week. He was looking for a serial bomber. He said he needed me; I couldn't believe that Dr. Gilbert Grissom needed a forensic profiler. I asked him to fax me the case. The evidence sucked; most of it had been blown away the millisecond the bomb detonated. Grissom told me that this time the criminal was just as smart as the CSIs. That was a prospect that terrified me. Four small casinos off the Strip had been targeted. I was afraid that the bomber would become much more brazen; that the bomber might decide to move his action onto the Strip. I told Grissom that I could be there within two days.

I had been working in Florida. I was helping the Tallahassee PD pursue a serial rapist. Most of my cases this year had 'serial' attached to them. I stuffed my suitcase full of dirty clothing. I hadn't been home in over ten weeks. I did my laundry at hotels. I bought new clothes if all else failed. I was tired.

Grissom met me at the airport. He said that we needed to go straight to the lab. There had been another bombing last night at the North end of the Strip. The bomber was becoming much more brazen. Grissom said that he needed me. He helped me gather my luggage and loaded me in his SUV. He drove to the lab at speeds ranging from mach two to mach three. There was an urgency to everything he did.

Grissom said that I looked different. I told him that guilt and night terrors have a tendency to do that to a person. I knew I looked different. I was thinner; my green eyes didn't sparkle like I remembered they did. I had fallen into disrepair.

"The team meeting should be starting soon," Grissom said as he opened the door to the Las Vegas Crime Science Laboratory. I remembered the layout of the building. It might have been a year, but there were some things that failed to fade from my memory.

"Sounds good. I'll need to go find a place to stay after the meeting. I'm feeling a little jet-lagged," I admitted as I ran my hand through my long blonde hair. I tried to pretend that I was prepared for this. I tried to pretend that I was a little more pulled together than I actually was. I never felt prepared for cases; I always tried to go in with a blank canvas. I didn't want the evidence to cloud my judgment because sometimes the evidence is altered . . . sometimes the evidence lies.

Grissom and I walked into the conference room. They were all there. They all had the same somber look on their faces. I couldn't blame them; twelve people had died last night.

"Dr. Winters is here to profile our suspect," Grissom said as if I might be there for a different reason. I tried to avoid Vegas like the plague. Grissom handed me a dry erase board marker; I was touched that he remembered that I liked to write on the glass walls in the lab. A year must not have erased all the memories from his mind. I doubted that those memories would ever fade.

They all mumbled half-hearted greetings. That was okay; the presence of a profiler never signified that the world was not at peace. Las Vegas was the epicenter of tourism in the United States. A serial bomber wasn't necessarily the attraction that people came to see.

"Okay, I need dates, times, places, and descriptions of each blast," I said as I put aside my own thoughts. It was easy to switch my brain over to very academic types of thought. It was my best defense mechanism.

We stopped three hours later. My brain was fried, and I was starving. Grissom stopped the team meeting when he noticed me swaying. He offered me some of those awful chocolate covered bugs; he even offered me the choice of dark or milk chocolate. Grissom ordered supper for us; we sat in his office eating Chinese food and talking about the case. He asked if I had a profile; I asked him if he thought that I was a miracle worker. Grissom had a presence that made me comfortable.

"Allie, I thought you said that you were never coming back to Vegas?" Nick teased. He stood in the doorway to Grissom's office. Nick and I had met years ago at a professional conference. He presented a case; I told him that I could have solved it faster using a profile and relatively 'non-technological' evidence. Nick bought me drinks. He called me last year to help find Sara. I found Sara, but I killed a man in the process. Nick called my cell-phone occasionally, but I never returned his calls. I couldn't talk about last year; talking about it made the nightmares come back with a vengeance.

"I tried not to, but Chinese food and chocolate covered insects are my weak spot," I replied. Sara's sarcasm had nothing on mine.

"I have the photos from last night," Nick said as he handed me a huge expanding folder stuffed with photos. I knew it was going to be one hell of a long night.

"Alex, why don't you take the rest of the night off. You should go find a place to stay," Grissom said. He didn't dare call me Allie; only my grandmother and Nick ever called me Allie.

"Knowing that the bomber is targeting the Strip and off the Strip . . . I have no idea where I would even want to stay," I replied. No one ever said that I wasn't a wise woman.

"You could always stay with me?" Grissom offered. I pegged him as having an apartment with white wall; the walls were probably all covered in insects of varying genus and species.

"Insect phobia. I nearly had a heart attack when I opened the box of candy that you sent me. The guys at the FBI in Boston came into my conference room with guns drawn . . . they were convinced that someone was killing me," I replied. Grissom laughed. I obviously had pegged him correctly.

"You could always stay with Sara and me," Nick offered. That was out of the question to; I didn't want the nightmares.

"Let me look over the profile once more before I pick my hotel," I replied. Nick looked disappointed that I had not chosen to stay with him. I'm surprised that he of all people didn't understand.

"Smart girl," Grissom commented.

"He goes for dumps. The star rating can't possibly be more than two maybe three on a very, very giving day," I commented.

"Why is it a he?" Nick asked.

"Women tend to attack people much more personally. Women kill using poison. In passion crimes, women tend to use blunt objects to bludgeon their victims to death or a small, lightweight handgun," I replied. Both Grissom and Nick nodded.

"Men are much flashier. When a man hates a woman, he strangles, stabs, or shoots. When a man hates another man, he bombs, beats, or shoots," I clarified. I finished picking at my Chinese vegetables and fried rice.

"So a man hates a man," Grissom stated.

"A man hates man or a concept. Why do people hate casinos?" I asked them.

"Gambling debts . . . ," Nick answered. Grissom also seemed to be very satisfied with Nick's answer.

"I immediately think of gambling debts, lost jobs . . . maybe he lives in an area that is being impinged by casinos. My first question would be who owns all the casinos. My second question would be who has markers out at each casino. My third is who has worked at all the casinos," I rambled.

"That's why you make the big money," Nick teased.

"You must be using big in the figurative sense," I quipped, "So what's one of the biggest, newest casinos on the South end of the Strip?"

"Alex, it's not a good idea. We don't know the bomber's pattern yet," Grissom said.

"Allie, just come stay with me," Nick coaxed. I begrudgingly nodded; I knew that I probably wouldn't win this fight. From the look on Nick's face, he probably would have spent the rest of his shift trying to guilt me into staying with him and Sara.

"Fine. You win," I replied, "So Grissom how long do you think you'll need me?"

"Until the bombings stop," he replied.

"So am I staying until you get the perp?" I asked.

"Until the bombings stop," Grissom said again, "What do you need for the profile?"

"Everything I wrote on the wall. I need time to go through the photos. I need you to answer my top three questions. I also need some sleep and someone to do my laundry," I replied.

"Nick, take the evening off. Make sure that Alex is taken care of," Grissom said. I wondered why he even needed to tell Nick that. Nick would have done that without even being asked or told.

"I'm going to take the photos with me. I could use something to lull me to sleep," I replied, "Grissom, guard those windows with your life."

"Go get some sleep. Nick, make sure she actually sleeps," Grissom ordered as if I might just listen to Nick.

I grabbed my luggage from the corner of Grissom's office. They were stacked with a geometric precision. Nick immediately hijacked the luggage from me. I knew enough not to fight Nick. He wouldn't give up until I did as told; that was just his nature. He protected people. He looked after people.

"Alex, you came back," Sara said as she met up with us in the hallway. Sara looked shocked; she understood survivor's guilt. Some days, I felt bad that it wasn't me. Glen could have easily shot me; instead, I took his life.

"Not by choice," I replied. Sara looked well; well, it would have been hard for her to look worse than she did last year when she was held hostage by her stalker.

"She's staying in the guest room," Nick told Sara. Sara smiled; we bonded last year. We spent most of out nights awake listening to her police scanner. I would profile the suspect and Sara would detail how she would collect the evidence. We were both awake almost every night; we would awake from similar nightmares. Nick was a heavy sleeper; he rarely woke up with us. He didn't like the game. Nick said it wasn't healthy to eat, sleep, and breathe work.

"Good. Here's your notes from the walls. I figured that you probably would start working tonight," Sara replied. Smart girl; she hit the nail on the head.

I might have fallen asleep on the way to Nick's townhouse. He gently woke me up and helped me in to the townhouse. I began to settle myself in the guestroom. Nick brought in my luggage and immediately admonished me for opening up the file containing the crime scene photos. I was sitting on the bed with the photos surrounding me. I planned to go through each casino individually to see if this was coincidence or if the bombings were connected. I had worked with enough forensic detectives to garner a little knowledge about the science of bombings, but it was by no means my specialty. My specialty was rape and violent assaults. I spent time in Texas working with death row inmates; I learned the fine art of murder from the finest teachers . . . the most violent men and women on Earth.

"You want some help?" Nick asked as he sat at the edge of the bed.

"What do you know about the chemical structure of the bomb?" I asked.

"Standard gun powder and sulfur," Nick replied.

"Great. So anyone that knows how to read, knows what a hardware store is, and has the internet is a suspect," I replied.

"Go to sleep, Allie. He'll still be out there tomorrow," Nick said as he began to gather up all the pictures.

"Twelve," I said as if it was some kind of epiphany. Well, in my tired state it was an epiphany.

"What?" Nick said as he looked at me funny.

"Twelve weeks, twelfth day of the month, twelfth month of the year, four minutes after noon, and twelve days after the last bombing," I said. Nick still was looking at me as if I had lost my mind.

"Second bombing was twelve weeks after the first and it was on the twelfth day of the month. The third bombing was in December. The fourth was at twelve midnight, and the fifth bombing was twelve days after the fourth," I said.

"Are you sure?" Nick asked as he looked over the dates and time.

"I'm sure. I'm thinking twelve means something to someone. Maybe a schizophrenic, obsessive-compulsive, or bipolar. So what's next . . . twelve noon . . . maybe a twelve in the address . . . twelve days," I rambled as I paged through my notes.

"I'll call Grissom. You should really be trying to sleep," Nick admonished as I reopened the case file.

"Like hell I will," I cursed under my breath.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick's POV:

I watched her work; she occasionally stopped to talk to herself. Allie looked like she hadn't slept in days, but I knew it was futile to argue with her. Last year, I don't even remember her sleeping. She was always driven, if not obsessed. Allie reminded so much of Sara.

I told Grissom about Allie's revelation. He said twelve meant nothing to him. Grissom said that he would start looking into pertinent 'twelves.' Allie worked this case with the same determination as she did Sara's case. Part of her might even be enjoying the challenge.

The sun was climbing over the horizon. Allie's body had finally given in to her exhaustion. I picked up the photos that were spread around her. I laid her body out on the bed. She had been hard to forget. I felt guilty thinking about Allie when I knew Sara was on her way home from work. Allie had been really hard to forget.

She hadn't seemed to change in two years. We met in Chicago at a forensic science conference. I was presenting a case solved solely on fiber evidence; Allie was the keynote speaker. She was captivating; her lecture went twenty minutes over its allotted time, but no one seemed to notice. Allie was one of the youngest profilers to work with the FBI. Allie was one of the only females in a field composed largely of old, white men. Allie gave me her card; she wrote down her room number on the back. I called her twenty minutes later to invite her out for drinks.

I remember that it was snowing. Allie had grown up in Southern California, so snow was somewhat of an enigma. We sat in a café drinking overpriced coffee watching the flurries accumulate on the ground. We spent most of the conference together; I sat in on her workshop. She wound up in my bed. We said that we would keep in touch; neither of us did. I called her a year later; I had moved on with my life. Allie had made great advances in her career. She was toted as the 'profiler extraordinaire.'

I waited in the living room for Sara. Sara and I had lived together for a little over a year. I moved in to her apartment the week we were both suspended for having 'a relationship with a coworker.' That was the first policy that Grissom wrote; to date, that was the only policy that Grissom wrote. I loved Sara. I'd like to think that part of me always did. Even in the weeks shortly after meeting Sara, I would think about her occasionally without any stimulus that would even remotely remind me of her. We were happy. We lead a relatively quiet existence; we were professionals at work and lovers at home. It was the model of perfection.

"Grissom is going crazy over the twelve thing," Sara said as she walked through the front door, "I think he's pissed because he didn't see it first. Where's Alex?"

"She finally fell asleep. How was your night?" I asked as Sara sat on the couch next to me.

"The last scene was scorched so badly that we lost most of our trace," Sara lamented. The last scene was that of a completely decimated casino. Most of the trace was in ashes; there was a good reason that Vegas had stringent fire codes, but unfortunately for the deceased, that particular casino was in violation of nearly every fire code. The other scenes weren't much better; all the casinos were located in older parts of Vegas. The roads weren't as accommodating as the main drags. We had little to go on.

"Allie is going to want to go tour the wreckage today," I replied.

"Did she ask?" Sara asked.

"No, but she'll want to. She likes to work under the most traumatic circumstances possible," I replied. I remembered how Allie walked the area where Sara was abducted. Allie had an eye for detail; her eye was more finely tuned than most of the CSIs I knew.

"I heard that," Allie grumbled as she joined us in the living room, "Grissom is going to pick me up in about an hour so I can walk the crime scenes. I asked him to set each scene on fire again so it can be a little more traumatic." Sara laughed at Allie's sardonic wit; I had a harder time.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" I asked. Allie fell asleep maybe two hours ago.

"I'm used to working days. This whole nightshift thing is going to kill me," Allie replied, "Besides it isn't like Grissom is going to sleep until I can explain the bomber's hang up with the number twelve." Allie furrowed her forehead in thought. When she was thinking, she would look straight through you. I always wondered exactly what part of her brain she retreated to when she was lost in thought.

"What if twelve only signifies the number of casinos he wants to hit?" Allie asked no one in particular, "What if this is just a game that he's playing . . . like that college kid a few years ago . . . the one that sent bombs to businesses across the country in a smiley face pattern."

"So what he hits a different casino every twelve days?" Sara asked.

"I don't know. I don't get the pattern . . . it seems too random. I might be over-thinking this," Allie lamented, "This is driving me crazy. I'm going to talk to Grissom about going to the media."

"He's not going to do that," I replied.

"Well, the evidence isn't going to help him on this one," Allie replied, "A vigilant public might be enough to slow the bombings, or we might be lucky enough to find a good tipster."

"What about the profile?" Sara asked.

"Male, above average intelligence . . . if not, extremely intelligent. He's probably introspective, quiet, stable. I can't even come up with a good age range. The first thing that comes to mind is a techie . . . single . . . just testing his limits," Allie replied, "How are the bombs delivered?"

"We've found metal fragments consistent with a metal briefcase at all the scenes," Sara replied.

"Where are the bombs located in the building?" Allie asked. I got up to make coffee because I didn't see this conversation ending anytime soon.

"They have all been detonated in the lobby of the hotel portion of the casino complex," Sara replied.

"This is just bizarre," Allie replied, "Maybe I just need to see the scene and things will start to click."

"You can go a little easier on yourself . . . you've only been in Vegas for twelve hours," I replied.

"Las Vegas cannot afford for me to work slowly," Allie replied, "I should go change and freshen up. I know . . . I'll make sure to get some sleep this afternoon."

"How did you know what I was going to say?" I said with a slight defensive tone to my voice.

"I'm a profiler. I occasionally pull some psychic abilities out of my hat," Allie teased.

"She's in a good mood," Sara commented once Allie disappeared into the guestroom.

"She's in her element. I think she thrives under pressure," I commented as I yawned.

"You waited up for me?" Sara said with a smile.

"I watched Allie torture herself over the number twelve. I thought maybe we could go to bed . . . forget about bombers . . . twelves," I said as I kissed Sara's lower lip. We had been working on the serial bomber case so intensively lately that we rarely got the chance to spend time together. My favorite part of the day just happened to be when I would hold Sara in my arms before drifting in to sleep. I was positive that Sara and I could have a quiet day together before work; I highly doubted that Allie would sleep this afternoon. I was willing to bet that Allie would be awake and working when Sara and I got to the lab this evening.


	3. Chapter 3

Grissom's POV:

She worked the crime scene so differently than I would. I processed the tangible; she processed the intangible. Alex told me that she pretends that she was in the hotel minutes before the bomb exploded. Apparently, that's how she puts together the profile. Alex said my evidence is important. It gives her a framework to build from. Alex was one of the most accurate profilers, so I was not one to argue with her.

We combed the remnants of the five crimes scenes. We started at sun up and didn't finish until the sun was sinking behind the horizon. Alex fell asleep in the break room on the couch; I retreated to my office for a few hours of sleep. When I woke, Alex was talking to Greg. I knew Greg had a very flexible mind, so I wasn't surprised that Alex would bounce ideas off of him. I watched them talk about everything from the Doomsday clock to current casino developments. Greg poured her a cup of the Blue Hawaiian coffee.

Last year, I wished that Alex would have stayed in Las Vegas. The sheriff and mayor offered her jobs outright; I had even asked her to stay. Alex left Las Vegas, but she has done wonderful things for many people since she's been gone. I saw her at a conference three weeks prior to the start of the bombings. Alex was presenting the case she was currently working on; a serial rapist in Florida. I was intrigued by how her mind worked. I would never admit that she had captured my attention; I wasn't the type of person that believed in person . . . I believed solely in the evidence.

Today, Alex looked tired as she bounced ideas off of Greg. Greg appeared to be in heaven; he had always expressed the desire to be a CSI, but I never let him out into the field. I let them be. I went to trace instead; Hodges was waiting for me. I knew he was threatened by smart people, so I assumed that he probably hated Alex. The trace from the last scene wasn't all that helpful. The trace is only telling us things that we already know; there was a bomb in a metal suitcase. It was hard to place all my faith in another person . . . it was so much easier to believe in science.

"Grissom, I think it's time to take our information to the public. You're spinning your wheels; I'm spinning my wheels. Let's do something to generate leads . . . I can't chase a ghost," Alex said as she walked into my office. I cringed at the thought of going to the press. I hated the lights; I hated the reporters. I hated that I didn't have the evidence to make a case on my own.

"Grissom, I need to know how to play this game," Alex said as she sat down.

"What about the profile?" I asked as I leaned back into my chair.

"Male with above average intelligence. He's quiet, introspective . . . probably very submissive. He's probably in a computer or technical job. After seeing all the scenes, I think he likes to watch. I think seeing the explosion is gratifying for him," Alex said as she rubbed her hands across her forehead.

"Why do you think he watches?" I asked.

"Narcissistic pleasure. There were cafes or coffee shops with outdoor seating across from each of the scenes," Alex said, "Whoever he is, he's smart, Grissom. That's what scares me."

"Go take a nap and get something to eat. I'll talk to the sheriff about getting the information to the media," I said as I shooed her away. I knew she wouldn't go sleep or eat. I figured that she would probably go work on the profile.

I hated the press; I hated it more so that they might be the key to breaking the case.

Sara's POV:

"Alex, you find anything this afternoon?" I asked as I watched Alex watch Greg work in the DNA lab. I startled her; I startled Greg. I knew Greg had taken a liking to her last time she was in Vegas.

"I think he watches the explosions from cafes or coffee shops. What are the chances that we could look at the debit and credit card activity at each of the coffee shops . . . about a half hour before each explosion?" Alex asked.

"Shouldn't be a problem. I'll make a few phone calls. Did you eat something today?" I asked. She looked thin; she looked like she just might fall asleep on the stool she was sitting on. Nick worried about her this afternoon; he expected her to come home for lunch or supper. I knew Nick and I both felt indebted to Alex; she was the one that found me. She was the one that almost took a bullet to the temple for me.

"I was going to take Greg out for supper. He's the one that spent the afternoon helping me with the profile," Alex replied. Greg blushed.

"Are you going to go home with Nick and me in the morning?" I asked her.

"If I get some work done tonight," Alex replied as she answered her ringing cell phone, "I need you to keep this on the down-low. I need you to run a database search for me. I need all the unsolved serial bombings in the last ten years . . . Jake, I owe you a million plus some."

"FBI?" I asked.

"I've exhausted all my other avenues," Alex replied.

"I'll get the register info. Anything else you need?" I asked her.

"How about some security camera footage?" Alex added.

"Sure, just let me know what you hear back from the FBI . . . whatever you do . . . don't tell Grissom. He's not a huge fan of government bureaus," I said as I went off to find Archie. If anyone could figure out which coffee shops were located near casinos, he could.

I was surprised that it took less than an hour for Archie and me to compile a list of coffee shops outside of casinos. It probably shouldn't have surprised me. Vegas was a city of convenience; casinos looked to meet the needs of tourists inside their establishment. One could easily camp out inside of some of the casinos for the rest of his life; the casinos had large hotel room, restaurants, buffets, shopping centers, and in some cases banks.

"Brass, it's Sidle. I need you to sweet talk a few coffee shops for me. Alex, thinks that the perp is watching the explosions. I'll need the register info and surveillance videos," I said as I propped the cellphone between my mandible and shoulder.

"Fax me your wish list," Brass said sarcastically. He probably had been getting just as much sleep as Alex did. "Any more progress on your end?"

"Nada. Trace confirmed that the bomb was a standard pipe bomb in a metal suitcase with a time delay. Grissom and Alex spent the day at the scenes . . . something's going on in her head," I commented.

"Better be . . . fifteen people have met their maker prematurely because of this prick," Brass replied, "You get back to work – I'll get back to you about the coffee shops."

It was only one in the morning. I had nothing to do but wait for another explosion or wait for Alex to think of something.

Greg's POV:

"You know. I have this cheap alarm clock. Something is wrong with the mechanism . . . it always gets a few minutes off kilter here and there," I said as I put my last out standing DNA sample into the PCR. Alex was still sitting on the stool next to me; she was staring at some of the crime scene photos trying to make sense of the pattern.

"I really do hope you have a point," Alex replied. She was exhausted, but I guessed that her brain couldn't shut off. She had become consumed with the case . . . a lot like Sara would.

"Look at the times of detonation . . . noon, eleven fifty eight, twelve-o-two, four minutes after noon, and six minutes after midnight," I clarified. It came to me as an epiphany; I was surprised we hadn't noticed it before. We had gone over that file at least ten times in the last seven hours.

"Greg, you are a genius. Has anyone ever told you that you are an absolute genius?" Alex said as she stood up and threw her arms around me. I could feel myself blush as she kissed my cheek. I was too dumbfounded to reply; I might have stammered something that sounded stupid.

"I want you to stick with me on this. I need your brain . . . mine must be fried," Alex said as she ran out of the DNA, probably to find Grissom.

Alex's POV:

"I know the pattern," I said as I walked into Trace were Nick and Grissom were pouring over the remnants of a metal suitcase and pieces of a bomb.

"I know what type of suitcase he uses," Grissom replied, "But ladies first."

"He used a cheap inaccurate clock for his time delay. The first blast was at noon . . . the second at eleven fifty eight, and then twelve-o-two, four minutes after noon, and six minutes after midnight. He each day must have a significant twelve . . . December, twelve weeks after the last bomb, or the date is the twelfth. Then, it's easy for him to choose what time," I said as I fished through the case file again, "I'm willing to bet my life that the next blast is sometime around six minutes after midnight or noon."

"So why does he alternate between midnight and noon?" Nick asked.

"The blasts around noon happen on Saturdays and Sundays. Our little buddy works from nine to five," I replied as I watched Nick continue to pick through a huge bag of debris that was brought back to the lab.

"So what's the next date?" Grissom asked.

"That pattern is too random. I think it's whatever is convenient for him," I replied, "I showed you mine, you show me yours."

"It's a metal suitcase designed primarily to house laptop computers . . . Archie is trying to find out who in Vegas has been continuously replenishing their stock," Grissom replied. He was blushing; apparently, my comment had indeed been inappropriate.

"Alex, I've got your video cued up in AV," Sara said as she stuck her head in the doorway.

"Anyone else want to see if we can see his face?" I asked as I followed Sara. I heard Grissom say that Nick could put the evidence away . . . it wasn't going to help them right now.


	4. Chapter 4

Sara's POV:

Nick and I were eating supper, or whatever my two am meal should be called, while we watched Archie scan the surveillance videos. Alex paced in the back of the room, and Grissom stood stoically in the corner. Alex's cellphone had rung a myriad of times; she occasionally left the AV lab to talk to her contact at the FBI.

The room was full of an air of apprehension and excitement. I had my fingers crossed that this nightmare might finally be over; so many people had died for what I could only imagine was a senseless reason. It was time for everything to go back to normal. Alex was tired, Nick was worrying about Alex, and I was sick of Nick worrying about Alex. I never thought that I was jealous person, but her name seemed to fall into most of his sentences. I figured I was probably just tired; I liked Alex. I admired her tenacity. I admired but didn't want to mirror her extreme work ethic. I kept telling myself that she wasn't a threat. Alex would leave and life would go back to a comfortable pace . . . for at least a year.

"Grissom, I changed my mind . . . I don't want you to release any information to the press until we have the guy's face," Alex said out of no where. She must have been thinking about it for awhile.

"That's fine. You could sit down if you like," Grissom replied as Alex continued to pace the length of the room. I did that only when I was so tired that I knew sitting down for a moment would cause me to fall into a deep slumber.

"Alex, I brought you back supper," Greg said as he joined us in the lab. I cursed myself for wondering exactly how Alex got all the men in the lab to follow her around like puppy dogs. I told myself she was a people person; I'm more of an evidence kind of girl. It would only make that she was good at forging relationships.

"Thanks, Greg. You want to walk the Strip with me this morning . . . hit a few coffee shops . . . browse a few casinos," Alex said alluding to the fact that she was going to work through the day again.

"Not until you sleep. Haven't I fed your addiction enough tonight?" Greg replied as he handed Alex a salad and a cup of soup.

"Alex, you need to sleep," Grissom lectured. I nearly snorted at how hypocritical he was being; I knew he wouldn't sleep until this was over.

"I have five matches," Archie said as five freeze frames from different coffee shop were displayed side by side on the projection screen. After five hours of sitting and waiting, there was finally something to work off of. "All Starbucks . . . all overpriced."

"Can you cross reference the time of the video with the information from the register?" Alex asked as she stopped dead in her tracks to take in the face of the person that could very well be our bomber.

I was a little startled that the guy didn't look at all remarkable. He was someone that you could pass on the street and not even notice. The man looked a little like every other young professional. He wore dress slacks, a dress shirt, and nice shoes. His hair was neatly cut; he was by all means normal looking. I had to stop to remind myself that everything was circumstantial right now.

"Ryan Carter of Henderson, Nevada," Archie said as he continued to plunk away at his keyboard.

"I'll call Brass and have him brought in," Nick said as I still stared at that hauntingly normal face in front of us.

"No, I want him followed. Everything is circumstantial right now. I want to get his next bomb before it blows up," Alex replied. Grissom nodded. It felt good to know that there just might be an end in sight.

Alex's POV:

"Go home," Grissom replied as I finished my profile. It was noon; Nick and Sara had left the lab hours ago. I stayed behind after giving them some lame excuse about having to get my profile down on paper before the details fade from my mind.

"Only if you do," I challenged.

"I don't know why you do this. You've only been here two days . . . you've made more progress than I have in months, but you refuse to sleep," Grissom said.

"Same way you aren't at home sleeping," I quipped. I was ready to go home to Los Angeles . . . as soon as I could see Ryan Carter behind bars. I always liked to leave only after I was sure that the good guys had won.

"Go home, Alex. I'll have security kick you out tonight unless you go home and get some sleep," Grissom replied. He held his hand out; I reluctantly handed over the case file. "I'll drive you back to Nick's house."

Sara had given me a spare key yesterday. I slunk into the house much like I did years ago as a rebellious teenager. I didn't want to see them; I just wanted a few hours to sleep. I wanted to shower and get back to the lab.

I was glad that they were sleeping.

"So what did your FBI contact tell you about Ryan Carter?" Sara said as she ambushed me en route to the guestroom.

"Jake is running a detailed background search for me. He said that he'll call as soon as it's done. The good news is that this is probably his first time serial bombing. Jake couldn't find a similar pattern over the last ten years," I replied as we stood in the hallways talking. Sara was in her pajamas, and I was still fully clothed and longing to sleep.

"Tomorrow is the twelfth," Sara commented. I must have lost all touch with the date because that was news to me.

"I better get some sleep so I can start doing a little ground work tonight," I replied.

"Ground work?"

"I'm going to visit a few coffee shops in areas that I think are high profile," I replied.

"Did you tell Grissom?"

"Hell no. He'd never let me go out on my own to investigate a case," I replied.

"Just be careful. Call us if you find him . . . surveillance needs to be court approved, so there's probably a two day wait on that," Sara cautioned me.

"Could I take some latex gloves and evidence bags from your kit? I just want to be prepared just in case I run into Mr. Carter," I replied.

"Fine. Just make sure to use your head."

"Oh, don't tell Nick. He'll throw a fit, but you must already know that."

"Don't tell me what?" Nick said with a yawn as he pulled his robe tighter around him.

"Nothing . . . just girl stuff," I quickly replied, "Good night . . . oh hell, I forgot its morning again."

"Go to sleep . . . both of you. Allie, why don't you give me your case file," Nick suggested.

"Grissom took it from me this morning. I'll see you at the lab tonight," I replied as I disappeared into the guestroom. I hated having to lie to him. I don't think I could ever lie to him.

I fell asleep into dreams about bombings and the face of an average guy. There were monsters that lurked inside all of us . . . it was just a matter of whether or not we let that monster out.

Nick's POV:

I heard what Allie said this morning. I wasn't going to admit that to her. She would do what she wanted no matter what I said to change her mind. She was so much like Sara in that aspect.

As much as I liked having Allie back in Vegas, I hated it all at the same time. Sara wasn't sure if she liked Allie or just respected her. Sara wasn't at all happy with me in the last forty-eight hours. If I said Allie's name, I was shot a look that sent chills down my spine. I had been stupid to tell Sara that once . . . two years ago . . . Allie and I had been involved. I never thought Sara would be as jealous as she was.

I felt like I had to protect Allie from herself. She was working her way to a heart attack faster than Sara or Grissom ever could. Allie didn't sleep; she only ate when forced to. She lived for the case. Living for the case is what got Sara into so much trouble. Sara had become so much wiser since she began to let me in to her life. Allie didn't have anyone to place so checks and balances on her life.

This morning Sara asked if I really loved her. I don't know if she believed me when I said I loved her more than I ever knew I could love a person. Sara seemed so unsettled by the situation. She hated change; she hated that sometimes the evidence was not strong enough for us to find and convict the bad guy. Sara was so much like Grissom in that aspect. Grissom had the same negative reaction to the presence of a profiler in the lab. This time Grissom had masked that apprehension so much better than a year ago.

It was five in the evening. I could here Allie moving around and the shower running. She had slept for no more than four and a half hours. I didn't know how she did it. Sara was helping me make a meal before we left for work.

I didn't want Allie walking the Strip by herself. I didn't even like it when Sara would walk the Strip with Catherine. It wasn't safe. The circumstances of my profession had made that very clear. Allie didn't know what she was getting herself into. I just didn't know how to say 'no' to her. It wasn't as easy as it should be.

"Sara, where can I go to buy some trashy clothes that are going to fit into Vegas?" Allie asked as she walked into the kitchen looking slight more awake than she did early this afternoon.

"I'll write down the names of a few stores," Sara replied as Allie answered her ringing cellphone.

"Jake, hmm . . . that's really bad news. So what do you think the status of Ryan Carter is?" Allie said with a loud sigh, "I'm not going to do anything stupid . . . I know . . . I am . . . I want to be home within the week. It's time for me to take a little break from everything. Serial murderer in Chicago?"

"I guess that shoots my vacation plans . . . Jake, thanks for all your work. I owe you big time for keeping this all on the down-low . . . . learned that phrase from a teenage hooker in Florida. Makes me sound trendy . . . I'll see you in a few weeks. Bye," Allie said as she hung up her phone, "Bad news."

"How bad?" I asked knowing that if Allie thought it was bad, it was probably really bad.

"Ryan Carter was trained as an explosives engineer in the army. Even better . . . he works as a young executive for a demolition company. It fits the profile . . . or at least gets me closer to fulfilling the trinity," Allie replied.

"Victim, suspect, crime scene?" I asked.

"Motive, method, mental status," Allie replied.

"So break it down for us?" Sara asked.

"Motive . . . it's out of anger because Carter doesn't give a damn about the lives he's taking. Method . . . bombing. That's the easy one. Mental status . . . completely sane or completely insane. I'm not really sure right now," Allie replied.

"Your trinity sounds so much more complex than ours," Sara replied.

"Devil is in the details . . . I work with only details . . . you get something tangible," Allie replied, "I should go shopping. I have a lot of work to get done tonight."

"Did you need a ride?" I asked knowing that she would never in a million years agree to that.

"Called a cab already. I'll see you at the lab," Allie said as she grabbed her purse and hurried out the door much like I always did when I was a teenager.

"She's lying," I said after drawing in a deep breath, "I heard you two talking this afternoon. She's going to get herself killed one of these times."

"It makes her happy . . . same way communing with bugs makes Grissom happy," Sara replied. Her face softened a little bit as she finished tossing the salad she was making. "She's not stupid. Alex is going to be fine."

"I know, but why would she lie to me?"

"Because you would make her go to lab. She knows that you aren't comfortable with her full force forward approach to forensics. Nick, let's worry less about Alex. Let's worry about trash day," Sara replied with a smile.

"Did Brass pick up his trash?"

"It was on the curb. It's you, me, and three bags of trash tonight, baby," Sara said as she seductively licked her lips. It made me laugh.

I was thankful the end was finally in sight.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex's POV:

I was walking down the Strip dressed in a type of clothes I hadn't worn since I was a college student many years ago. My pants were tight, my heels were high, and my top was a shimmery camisole. It was fun; when I was buying the outfit, I had no idea that I might remotely enjoy it.

A street magician pulled a rose out of his sleeve for me. It made me smile as I walked away with the fake flower in my hand. It was good to feel free. It was good to feel sexy. Though I fought it, I enjoyed watching the men wake passed me and then turn around to finish watching me walk away. In a city of light and beautiful woman, it felt nice to be appreciated. I hadn't felt like this in years.

I had two more coffee shops to go to before I went back to the lab. It was beginning to look like it the twelfth might just end up being a rather quiet day. It was quarter to midnight. There was no sign of Ryan Carter in any of the coffee shops that I had been to.

"Very Vegas, Allie," Nick said as he walked up behind me. He startled me to the point that I nearly screamed. I had been way too caught up in all the neon and the glitz of Vegas.

"You should go back to the lab. I've got this under control," I said as Nick continued to walk next to me. I was slightly irritated that my few self-indulgent moments were no longer private.

"Grissom wants someone to follow you. It's not safe for a beautiful woman to walk the Strip alone," Nick said as he opened the door to the coffee shop. I nearly stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the clean cut face of Ryan Carter. It wasn't going to be a quiet night after all.

"I'm going to go get a table, honey. Could you please go pull the car around my feet are really tired?" I said innocently as I casually gestured to the clean cut man in the table near where we were standing. Nick nodded. He whispered for me to be very careful. I asked him to hurry.

I went up to the counter and ordered my coffee. I sat at the table next to Ryan Carter. I smiled at him; he smiled back as if everything was normal.

Nick's POV:

I tried to keep it together as I ran across the street. I was on my cellphone telling Brass that he needed to call out the bomb squad now. We had fifteen minutes to disarm the bomb. I ran into the casino and told the receptionist that I was with the crime lab. She didn't seem to know what to make of my badge. I told her that I strongly suspected that there was a bomb some where in the lobby. She was immediately on the telephone to security. I felt sick when I saw a metal briefcase unattended in the corner of the lobby. I yelled at the receptionist to hurry.

I could hear the sirens outside. I ran outside to meet them. I looked over at the coffee shop and wondered if Allie was going to be okay. This guy obviously didn't have any regard for human life. Part of me was tempted to go back to the coffee shop, but I didn't have my side arm. Allie would be furious if I went back there. She didn't like to be to be saved. Allie would be furious if I knowingly put myself in danger . . . she thought that was her job.

"Nick, where is it?" Brass asked as he ran up to me.

"Inside the lobby next to a huge fern," I said as we stood among a sea of terrified casino patrons that poured out of the doors. It made me hopeful that this time we had won the fight.

"Where's Allie?" Brass asked.

"Starbucks across the street. Ryan Carter is in there," I yelled over the noise. Brass immediately began to bark orders to some of the officers. They drew their arms and began to walk over to the Starbucks.

I heard a shot; then, all I could hear were the screams of terrified patrons. I tried to push my way through the crowd to get closer to the coffee shop across the street. I wondered if she was okay.

Alex's POV:

I asked him about the book that he was reading. He said he was reading a book about the Civil War; he asked if my 'husband' would be mad that I was talking about him. I replied that this is Vegas. Carter seemed to appreciate that. He smiled and asked me to join him. I was shocked at how cool and collected he had managed to stay.

Carter was a charming man. He asked where I was from. He asked what I did for a living. To him, I was Alex a psychologist in Los Angeles. I was a married woman. I let him believe that Nick was my husband. I asked the same questions to him. He was a computer programmer from Peoria, Illinois. He went to school in California and wound up Vegas. Carter said that he loved Vegas.

He was remarkably composed until he heard the sirens. I noticed that he began to fidget uncomfortably in his seat. His glance would rapidly shift between me and the casino across the street. I tried to smile and keep him engaged in the conversation, but I knew I was losing him quickly. I was well aware that I needed to keep him in the coffee shop until someone could arrest him.

There was one moment when I was positive he knew that it was over. Carter knew that he wasn't going to be able to walk away from the scene he created. He looked panicked. I could see him digging in his bag to reveal a gun.

"Lock the damn door," Carter screamed as he pointed the gun at the cashier. The young girl promptly began crying. I turned around to see the police running towards the coffee shop as the young girl locked the door. Carter ordered us to get on the floor. The next thing I heard was the sound of shattering glass. The coffee shop immediately exploded into screams. I could feel the glass shards tear into my arms. I'm not sure if I screamed.

"Back room . . . everyone into the back room now," Carter ordered. He pulled me off of the ground and held me in front of him "Just another warning shot before I take you to the back room."

Two of the male patrons begged Carter to let me go. Carter turned the gun on them and ordered them to the ground. Carter fired another shot; another window shattered. He dragged me to the back room after ordering the male patrons to walk in front of him.

Carter began to swear profusely when he saw the open backdoor. The employees had been smart enough to let everyone else out. The police weren't quick enough to get in the back door. Carter closed and locked the door.

The two males and I huddled in the corner of the room. I wondered what was next. From the profile, I knew that Carter wouldn't think twice of killing us. We would be here for a while. Carter needed to figure out the new rules to the game.

Grissom's POV:

"She's where? Where's Nick?" I asked Jim. I stood up from my desk and searched for my jacket and side arm.

"Nick's fine. He's waiting for the bomb squad to inactivate the bomb. Nick said he wanted to stay and start the forensics," Jim said. I was relieved, but growing a little impatient.

"Is Alex alright?" I nervously asked.

"She's being held hostage by Carter. We're trying to get in contact with him," Jim replied, "Most of the people got out of the coffee shop. Apparently, Carter was using Alex as body armor."

There was a sour taste in my mouth. Nick had told me that Alex was walking the crime scenes again; I told him to go follow her. I probably was staring at the calendar on my desk. I should have realized that Alex was prowling coffee shops and Nick was going to go protect her. It was after all a 'significant' twelve.

Sara was working on the bags of trash confiscated from Carter's house this morning. I told Nick that he was to go out and help Alex with anything she needed . . . only because he seemed to work well with Alex. He said they had this 'thing.' Part of me wondered if it was the same 'thing' that he once had with Kristi Hopkins. I was sure that Sara would tear his limbs off if he did.

I didn't want to be the one to tell Sara. She was acutely aware that I didn't approve of her interoffice liaison with Nick. They were completely professional at work . . . they didn't work cases together, but I still didn't like it. I became a jealous, old man. I was convinced that a 'womanizer' was not the correct fit for Sara. I knew Nicky didn't need a workaholic. I cared about them both . . . so much that I didn't want either of them to get hurt.

"Sara," I said as I stood in the doorway to the trace lab.

"What's up, Grissom?" Sara asked as she looked up at me. She had no idea what was coming.

"We have Carter cornered," I replied. I figured that most people liked to hear the good news before they heard the bad.

"That's good," Sara replied with a smile.

"Nick's at the scene working with the bomb squad. Carter is holding Alex hostage," I replied. I decided that it was wise to add in a little more good news before I blindsided her with the bad news.

Sara looked like she didn't know what to feel. She looked relieved that Nicky was far from harm, but it looked like she didn't know exactly what to feel about Alex. In the last days, I saw a jealousy in Sara's eyes that reminded me of how she looked at me when I talked about Lady Heather. Nick did dote upon Alex; Greg pursued Alex with the abandon of a hungry wolf. Alex shrugged off the advances; Alex told Nick to stop worrying about her, but Sara still saw Alex as the enemy.

Sara quickly turned away. I knew that somewhere the news had burned her. She had become very close to Alex last year. They had bonded in a way that only survivors of hideous crimes can. I didn't understand it. Nick had vocalized that he didn't understand it.

"Do you need me to go to the scene?" Sara asked as she tried to regain her professional demeanor.

"No, I'm going out there. I'll send Nick back here with the bomb. Get Greg and Bobby to help you two," I replied as I pulled on my jacket.

"Is she going to be okay?" Sara asked in a rare moment of vulnerability.

"I'm not sure yet," I replied as I walked away.

Alex's POV:

"I need to get the hell out of here," Carter screamed as he paced the length of the small storage room. He was clenching his gun so tightly his knuckles were white. He had loosened his tie and sweat was permeating the underarms of his blue dress shirt. Carter was quickly unraveling.

The telephone had been ringing off the hook. Carter looked at it several times as if he might just pick the telephone up. His cold blue eyes scanned our bodies. He might have been prioritizing who he would kill first. Carter didn't say anything to us; we didn't dare speak to him.

"Answer that damn phone before I go insane," Carter yelled as he waved the gun in my face. I crawled out from behind the two men that tried to protect me. Carter forcefully grabbed my waist and dug the barrel of the gun into my back.

"Hello," I croaked as I answered the telephone.

"Alex, is that you?" Brass asked.

"It's me. I'm okay . . . there's two male hostages. We are all okay," I said. I had no idea what to say. Mentally, I had planned to make sure that Carter didn't know that I was working with the police, but my mind and my mouth weren't in sync.

"Is he armed?" Brass asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Can I talk to him, Alex?" Brass asked. He sounded frazzled. I'm sure he didn't expect Carter to undergo surveillance like this.

"Okay, Jim. Please help us," I said as I began to breakdown.

"Just try to stay calm. Just like last time, Alex," Brass said to me before I handed the telephone to Carter.

"He wants to talk to you," I said as I thrust the telephone in his face. He pushed me back to the corner. I tripped in unfamiliar heels I was wearing. I fell hard on the ground. The younger of the male hostages quickly helped me back into the corner.

We watched him talk. We watched him begin to devise new rules to the game that he was playing with the police and all of Las Vegas. He said that he would not let us go. Carter said that the only way we would leave the coffee shop was in a body bag. He demanded a bulletproof vehicle with a full tank of gas. If his demands were met, he said he might think about sparing our lives.

He smirked as he told Brass he had twelve hours to fulfill his demands. Brass must have asked him to reconsider and release his hostages. Carter smiled and said if Brass could come up with the date, time, and locations of the next three bombings, we would be released. Carter said for each wrong answer a hostage would die . . . _no pressure, right?_

"I grew up in the Midwest. I moved out here because it was supposed to be glamorous. Glamorous my ass," Carter cursed as he hung up the telephone, "I came out here to demolish the old casinos. I haven't gotten a fucking contract in years . . . you know why? I don't have enough experience. I only helped develop the fucking bombs dropped from the fucking F-150s in Iraq. Damn town is a curse."

Carter continued to pace the room. It was going to be a very long twelve hours.


	6. Chapter 6

Nick's POV:

The bomb squad took my camera in with them. Chris, the team leader, said that he took at least ten pictures of the bomb and multiples of the pieces they had disassembled. They were going to transport the bomb back to the lab where Bobby, Sara, and Greg were waiting to comb over every inch of the apparatus.

I stood still for a moment staring at the coffee shop. Most of the windows in the front were shattered. Brass told me two shots came from inside. He also told me that Alex was still in there. One of the women that had been in the coffee shop told me about how the man was using 'a beautiful, young blonde' as a shield when he fired the shots out the front windows. Another patron said that he remembered that Alex's arms were cut and bleeding from the explosion of glass in the coffee shop. Brass kept telling me that she was okay. I had a hard time believing it. I wouldn't believe until she was outside the coffee shop telling me that she was okay.

"I need you to go back to the lab. Sara is going to need your help with the bomb," Grissom said as he approached me. I don't think I really heard what he said. I just nodded my head and stood still for a little while.

"Nick, the only way you can help her is by getting good evidence that will stick in court. Brass is doing what he can to get her out," Grissom reassured me when he noticed that I was not moving from where I stood in the street.

"That twisted son of a . . . he's playing a new game. If we guess the location, time, and date of the next three bombs, Carter is going to let the hostages go. For each wrong guess someone dies. I'm getting a warrant for his house. The negotiator is here, so I'm heading over there," Brass said exasperated as he approached us.

"Nicky, I want you to go to his house. Jim, bring a bomb squad with you. He might have the house booby trapped," Grissom said as he disappeared into the casino.

"I'll drive," Jim said as he waved me towards him. I had a hard time moving. I always had this feeling that if I didn't call Allie last year, she wouldn't be like this. She wouldn't be a moving target for crime. I felt responsible for her. I always would.

"I want to talk to her," I said without realizing that I said it.

"No, no. You don't want to talk to her right now. You don't want to talk to Carter," Brass said as he walked back towards me.

"I need to talk to her. She's in there because I didn't make her leave the coffee shop with me," I yelled at him. It seemed to make him understand because he took me over to where the negotiator was standing. The negotiator lied to Carter. He said that I was going to fund the escape only if my 'wife' was unharmed.

"Nicky, please . . . you have to get me out of here," Allie cried into the phone. I had never heard her close to losing her composure.

"Allie, sweetie . . . you've got to help me. Tell me what you think is important," I coaxed.

"When I signed the marriage _contract_, you knew that I was and _old-fashioned_ girl. Remember when we got married, we stayed at that _old hotel-casino_ in the _north block of the Strip._ Remember after the ceremony, we watched _the implosion of one of those really old casinos. _It was magical wasn't it?" Allie rambled. She tried so hard to keep it together. She tried so hard to weave all the clues into something that sounded remotely believable.

"Allie, we'll get you out. I'm so sorry I left you in there. Please be careful," I said. I could feel myself begin to choke up.

"Please, Nicky, please," Allie pleaded before the telephone was hung up.

"You get anything?" Brass asked as I followed him to his squad.

"Something about the old-fashioned hotel-casinos at the north end of the Strip. It should narrow the area," I replied.

"I called in the FBI. One of that agents that she is partnered with, Jake Malone, is headed out here. She's been keeping him updated on the profile . . . he's going to see what he can extrapolate based on Alex's work," Brass said as we got into the squad, "She's a federal agent . . . we didn't have a choice, Nick."

"She's a fed?" I asked.

"For the last year, she's working all the big cases lately," Brass replied. Brass drove like a bat out of hell to the small house in the suburbs. The house was so much like Ryan Carter. It looked like all the others. It looked ordinary.

"I'll send the squad in first. Don't you dare go near that house," Brass warned me as we got out of the car. Brass yelled at the bomb squad to get in that house and comb it. I suddenly regretted thinking that the end was in sight. Allie's end was what was in sight right now.

Sara's POV:

"Where's Nick?" I asked Chris the minute he came into the room with the disassembled bomb.

"At the suspect's house. Here's what I have for you," Chris replied as he set the bomb and all its parts on the table in front of Greg, Bobby, and me. Bobby pulled on his gloves and dug into the machinery with an enthusiasm I had never seen before.

"It's not very sophisticated. Just a standard pipe bomb in a carburetor," Bobby said as he inspected the bomb, "I'm surprised that it wasn't something more sophisticated. I thought he worked as a demolition specialist."

"All the parts could be purchased inconspicuously," I suggested. I wasn't impressed with the bomb either. It was very crude compared to what I expected. "Greg, I want this whole thing swabbed for epithelials."

Greg and Bobby eagerly went to work on the bomb. I watched them detail all the parts of the bomb. I fidgeted nervously until I finally just turned on the radio and listened to the police play-by-play. I felt nauseated. Nick could have easily been in that coffee shop with her; that's probably where he wished he was right now. He liked to save people. It was one of the most admirable things about him. He saved me from myself; now, he was working to fix Alex.

I felt bad for thinking all those bad things about Alex. She probably was the only reason that Nick wasn't in that coffee shop. I was thankful that she only put herself out on the line; she never looked to take anyone down with her.

My cellphone was ringing, but I wasn't sure if I really wanted to answer it. I looked at the caller ID; it was Brass.

"Sidle, new game plan. If we want the hostages out alive, we needed to come up with the date, time, and location of the next three bombings. If we screw up, someone dies," Brass explained without waiting for me to greet him.

"How the hell do we do that?" I asked.

"The profile. Nick talked to Alex. She said something about the old casinos on the north end of the Strip . . . something about demolition," Brass replied. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Every hotel on the north end of the Strip was a complete disaster.

"Did Grissom tell you what the priority is?" I asked.

"He's at the casino. Call him. Sidle, whatever that priority . . . do it fast. We need to make sure that we have charges that are going to stick," Brass said as he hung up his phone. I immediately called Grissom.

"Grissom, it's Sara. What evidence has priority tonight?" I asked.

"Let Bobby and Greg have the bomb. We'll process tool marks once Nick and Brass are done at the suspect's house. I've called Warrick and Catherine in to work up the trash for clues. I want you to get intimately familiar with the profile. Agent Malone is coming in to help with the profile," Grissom rambled. The casino sounded eerily quiet around him.

"Agent Malone?" I asked.

"Another FBI profiler that works with Alex. He sounded pretty up to date on the profile. Help him out with whatever he needs. Keep me updated on the news," Grissom instructed.

"Okay, I'll get right on it," I replied as I hung up my phone and immediately went to his office to retrieve the paperwork that Alex had spent the last two days on. I sat in Grissom's chair and read the profile with awe. I glanced up at the clock and noticed that a full hour and a half had passed since I became aware of Alex's situation.

I was impressed with the quality of her profile. It seemed to fit Ryan Carter to the smallest details about his grooming and choice of coffee shops. The skeleton of a man lay on the paper that I was holding. From so little, I knew so much about Ryan Carter. My evidence never spoke like Alex's profile did.

"Sara Sidle, I'm Jake Malone," a man said as he walked into Grissom's office and sat in a chair across from me. He was built and tanned. He looked like he might have just walked off the beach. Jake had blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked like all the California surfer boys that I obsessed over as a teenager.

"You up to date on her profile?" I asked as I began to scan the last page of her notes.

"On the jet . . . I read the profile. One of your officers said that a CSI talked to Alex after she was taken hostage," Jake commented as he pulled his own copy of the profile out from a black leather briefcase.

"Nick Stokes did," I replied.

"I'll need to talk to him," Jake replied. I was already dialing Nick when Jake asked.

"Hey, Nick. Agent Malone wants to talk to you about your conversation with Alex. He's right here," I said once Nick answered his phone. Nick and Jake talked for a few minutes. Jake's questions were very clinical and to the point. I watched Jake scrawl notes onto a legal pad he pulled out of his briefcase. I was sure that he was irritating Nick; every second that Nick had to relive his decision to leave the coffee shop would torment him.

"Nick, said you have an AV guy. Let's have him do his magic," Jake said with this easy smile that reminded me a lot of Nick's.

"Okay, follow me," I said as I stood up and made my way to Archie. He perked up as if he might have been expecting us. Jake introduced himself. Jake promptly commented on how much Archie contributed to the profile. He said that he needed Archie to help pick out the next three sites based on the profile . . . coffee shop near old casinos on the north end of the Strip. Archie delved into his work enthusiastically. I excused myself from the lab to go check on Bobby and Greg's progress.

"Greg is running the epithelials . . . I'm almost done documenting all the parts of the bomb. Nick called me to say that the suspect's house is riddled with bomb making materials. He's bringing them back so Hodges can make a positive association," Bobby reassured me. I wasn't sure if I liked being in charge of part of the team when the stakes were so high. I didn't want to pressure them, but I didn't want the better part of twelve hours to pass me by. I owed this to Alex.

"Sara, I have a ton of DNA, but nothing to compare it to. All the epithelials are XY," Greg said as he popped his head out of the lab and followed me down the hallway.

"Okay, I need you to help Agent Malone, Archie, and I. We are trying to locate the next three locations, times, and dates. You're the local expert since you helped Alex develop the profile," I said as Greg nodded and followed me back to the AV where Archie already had a map of the Strip projected on the wall.

"Archie, can you highlight the Starbucks with outer seating," Jake asked. Jake's jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw the map all but light up.

"Archie, isolate the ones across the street from casinos slotted for renovation or tear down in the next three years," Greg said as he sat down on a stool next to Archie. I was relieved to see the number go from what looked like well over fifty to four. Jake seemed to finally exhale.

"What's next?" Archie asked obviously proud of his work.

"Map the bombings including tonight's attempt," Jake said. The pattern looked fairly consistent. Carter was working from north to south.

"Well, we have the time and the location. What do we know about the date?" Jake said to no one as he began to flip through the profile again.

I knew the truth was that we knew nothing about the date.


	7. Chapter 7

Nick's POV:

I tried to focus on the task at hand, but my mind kept fading back to the look on Allie's face when I left her in the coffee shop with that monster. It bothered me that she didn't look worried. She looked like everything was okay. Allie looked like she had everything under control. I wondered what happen to make things get so far out of control.

"Holy shit. That's all his materials?" Brass asked when he saw the huge box of evidence that I had amassed in less than an hour.

"This is the pertinent stuff. I'll have to come back for the rest later," I replied. We had called the bomb squad back in here when I found three sticks of dynamite. Chris rushed out here to confiscate the explosives and take them back to his lab where they could be safely processed.

Brass dug through Carter's desk to see if there was a game plan anywhere. I told Brass to make sure that he had Carter's day planner. I was hoping that it might give us insight into Carter's work schedule. Brass said that it might be wise to get a warrant for his office.

"Nick, Alex is a tough girl. She's going to be okay," Brass said out of no where. He must have known that I wasn't thinking about the case as much as I needed to be. His words didn't really make me feel any better. I remember my mother saying those exact same words about my pet turtle when I was sever years old . . . the turtle died at the vet's office the very next day. _Snapper is a tough girl. She's going to be okay, honey. Don't you worry._ The memory was haunting.

We loaded the squad full of evidence. There was so much, but it wasn't enough to play Carter's three questions game. The best my evidence would do is keep him in jail for the attempted bombing of that casino tonight. I didn't like knowing that we would have to wait for Carter to confess to all the other bombings. If that time ever came.

The ride to the lab was silent. I was thankful for that. I didn't feel like talking. I didn't feel like listening to empty promises that might not be fulfilled. It felt good to hide within my mind for a little while, but no matter how much I pretended, Allie was still in that building with the madman.

We carried the goods into the lab. Sara, Greg, Archie, and some other guy were working in the AV lab. Grissom was hunched over a table in trace. Warrick and Catherine were wading through the garbage picked up yesterday morning. None of them looked up as I walked into the lab and began to organize my station.

"Find anything helpful?" Sara asked as she approached me from behind causing me to startle.

"Let me catalogue the day planner. Then, it's all yours," I replied as I pulled a few forms out of the filing cabinet and began to sift through the boxes and bags.

I made the fatal mistake of looking at the clock. There were only nine hours left in the game.

Alex's POV:

It's been strangely quiet for the last half hour. Carter has been pacing the room the entire time we have been held captive. He occasionally rants about one of his many problems. Carter's soliloquies have ranged from his disdain for his job to a girl he dated three months ago. The guy is a psychiatric gold mine. He finds problems in the most innocuous things.

"Are you glad that your husband got away?" Carter asked me out of no where.

"Yes, I wouldn't want him to be hurt," I replied without missing a beat. Carter appeared troubled by the answer.

"Why would you want to die for him?" Carter asked as if Nick had been in danger the entire time.

"Because some things are just more important than me. He's one of those things," I replied my voice cracking a little bit. I hadn't realized just how much danger Nick could have been in. He probably didn't realize that. Nick was probably somewhere wondering why he didn't stay with me . . . with Carter.

"Do you think you are a martyr? Would you die for my sins?" Carter asked. He crept closer to me and my fellow hostages. We all pressed back into the wall like we might be able to be absorbed by the cinderblock and disappear out of this purgatory.

"That's just something you do for the people you care about. It's not about being a martyr," I replied. Carter backed away from us as if my words had stung him. He began to pace the room again.

"Do you want to know why you are here?" Carter asked no one in particular, "I've killed thirty people. I've destroyed five buildings. Want to know why?"

"It's the only way that I will ever get to take down a building in Vegas. All these buildings have some historical significance. I want a part of it. I'm the one putting these places to rest. I'm the one creating land for new developments," Carter raved. He violently gestured his hands.

"I just want my fifteen minutes. Everyone else in this city has gotten more than their fifteen minutes," Carter said coldly as he began to pace the room again, "I want my car. I want to get out of this room."

"Are you worried that in the last four hours they haven't come up with any answers? Are you worried that I will be the only one to leave this room alive?" Carter asked as he approached us again. He seemed to garner some odd enjoyment out of torturing us. Carter seemed happy when he had all the control.

"Alex, you're a pretty woman. Do you think your husband is going to save you?" Carter asked. He seemed like enjoy torturing me the most. "Do you think he would give you a little update on the progress? You should call him because I'm getting sick of being locked in this room."

Carter's hysteria had progressed from manageable to something down right terrifying. We were an audience to his violent breakdown. Any morsel of sanity left in this man was slowly crumbling.

Carter grabbed my arm twisting my upper arm violently in the process. My wrist had bruised from his earlier assault. The cuts on my arms had scabbed. The blood had long since dried. Carter forced the telephone into my hand. The line had been kept open to the negotiator.

"Miss, are you okay?" an old sounding man asked me.

"How much longer until the car is delivered?" I said with a gasp as Carter twisted my arms a little harder.

"We are working on it. Is everyone okay?" the negotiator asked.

"We're okay. Please hurry," I replied as Carter forced the muzzle of his gun a little deeper into my back.

"Alex, I'm going to patch you through to the crime lab. Will you be able to talk to the CSIs without drawing any suspicion?" I think I croaked out the word yes. Carter laughed a little as he twisted my arm harder.

"Alex, how are you holding up?" Jake asked. I couldn't believe how fast the bureau got him to Vegas.

"I'm okay. Have you made any progress?" I asked my voice faltering.

"Alex, we've got the location and times. I'm still searching for the dates. Alex, I've got your back. Just keep it together," Jake instructed, "Do you know anything that can help us?"

"No. Just hurry," I replied.

"Alex, be smart. Now, go back to fitting in with the background," Jake said. Carter began to twist my arm harder. I remember nearly passing out from the pain. Carter seemed frustrated with the time I was wasting. He flung me across the room. I tripped and fell to the ground hard. I was sure my arm was broken. I couldn't push myself up off the ground.

"Alex, what are they doing to make me happy?" Carter asked as he kicked at my feet.

"They're working to get you a car," I whispered. I dragged myself back to the corner. I could feel the blood running down my face.

Grissom's POV:

The call ended so abruptly. It ended with Alex screaming followed by a sickening thud. Jake cringed; Nick and Warrick lowered their heads. Sara promptly got up and left the room. I was frozen. Jake had become so frustrated that he threw the case file down on the bench and left the room. I had no idea what to do next.

I didn't get involved with people, but this time and last time, I let Alex in. It might have been that she reminded me of Sara. It might have been that I admired her crime solving abilities. It might have been the way she watched Greg run DNA samples with an awe that I hadn't seen in a long time.

Everything about the next eight hours would be fragile. It would be an emotional drain. Nick was silently falling apart. He blamed himself for leaving her in there. There were no words to change his mind. I think part of him might have even regretted not finding the evidence that he needed. Nick took everything personally.

"Gris, think this might help?" Catherine said as she handed me a list of dates written on a crumpled piece of paper that must have been in the garbage.

"Greg, what were the dates of the last bombings?" I asked as Greg read the profile again. A few of the dates matched up. If anything, these dates that I held in my hands were a representation of what might work out. He had scheduled his bombings around an otherwise normal life. It didn't seem right. It seemed too logical.

"Let's look at the day planner again," Greg said as I handed him the piece of trash. Greg was the only one that was able to keep pushing forward. I wasn't sure where his focus came from. I was drained; everyone else in the lab was drained.

"You see a pattern?" Nick asked.

"I don't know. I don't want three people's lives to ride on a guess or a hunch," Greg said as he pushed the papers away from him as if they had burned his skin. I didn't blame him. I didn't want the lives of the hostages to ride on a guess that could very well be wrong.

Sara's POV:

"Can I bum an extra?" I asked as I approached Jake. He was standing outside the lab. He leaned heavily against the wall. Jake was looking at something . . . or he was looking beyond all the scenery in his path.

"Sure," Jake said as he handed over a cigarette and lighter. I hadn't had one of these in four years. Today, it felt like four very long years. The nicotine was refreshing. I could almost feel the wave of relaxation consume my body.

"I don't normally smoke, but today is an exception," Jake said. He kept looking straight ahead.

"Neither do I. It's been one hell of a long day," I replied as I leaned on the wall next to him.

"If we think it's bad . . . well, we know who has it a lot worse," Jake replied. His short, well-groomed hair was now a mess reminiscent of Greg's hair. There were bags under his eyes. His tie was loosened and the top buttons of his white dress shirt were unbuttoned. He looked like he might just be falling apart.

"I know. It doesn't feel right, does it?" I commented.

"The last thing I said to Alex before we left Florida was something stupid about her having a farmer tan," Jake said, "She's my partner, and I couldn't have thought of something better to say to her."

"Well, I gave her a list of stores to go find trashy clothing at," I replied.

"Touché. Everything else is so well planned . . . why are the dates so random? I don't get it," Jake replied as he took another long drag on his cigarette.

"I don't know. I really don't have any idea," I replied.

"What if I told you that he travels for his work?" Nick said as he came over to where Jake and I were hiding.

"It doesn't help unless I know where he's been and where he's going," Jake grumbled.

"Brass confiscated another day planner from Carter's office. Is that the sun coming up?" Nick asked as he looked at me disapprovingly. I quickly flung the half-smoked cigarette to the pavement and stomped it out.

"Rises at five in the morning today," I said. It was a random fact I heard on the news this morning. For some reason it stuck with me. "When's Brass getting here?"

"Fifteen minutes," Nick replied. There was an uncomfortable amount of distance between me and him. I wished he could be grateful that he was alive and safe; he wished that he would have protected her. Nick believed that he was the dependable one. In so many ways he was, but Nick neglected to realize that Alex was the dangerous one. Alex sought it out, but Nick blamed himself for not pulling her away from Carter. Moth to a flame.

"What do we do now?" Jake asked.

"We wait," I said. My mind went back to the shear horror I felt when listening to the telephone conversation. I could hear Carter in the background. I could hear the distinct sound of a spiral fracture. The noises were like nothing I had ever heard before. A human body wasn't supposed to make that loud of a thud when crashing to the ground. Her scream wasn't supposed to remain lodged in my mind. It was all so wrong.

We waited silently. We were probably all wondering the same thing. If she was still alive, how bad of condition was she in.


	8. Chapter 8

Nick's POV:

"He's got a trip planned to Chicago and one to New York City," Jake said as Archie plotted the information from the other day planner on a calendar, "Plot the dates based on the last few significant twelves."

It was six thirty in the morning. I was exhausted; Sara had fallen asleep in the break room. Grissom had retreated to his office for a few moments of sanity among this insane night. Greg had to go run DNA samples from another case. Greg had already isolated and compared Carter's DNA from a known sample to the DNA found on the bomb. It was a match, but we had expected as much.

Catherine and Warrick were sorting through the trash again. Catherine was convinced that they had missed something. There had to be another clue that could blow this case open. Catherine was the only one that was optimistic at this point. Everyone else was too tired to be optimistic.

"It's still random. He's playing with us. He probably doesn't even know what date is next," Jake said as we stared at the projection of the calendar Archie had created.

"That's it?" I asked.

"That's it. Now, all we can do is wait or give Carter what he wants," Jake replied. Brass shook his head. I was pretty sure they didn't plan on fulfilling his request.

"What if we don't give Carter a damn thing?" Brass asked after clearing his throat.

"He will probably kill the hostages," Jake replied. I already knew that. I already had serious doubts about any of the hostages being alive.

"If we give him the armored car?" Brass asked.

"He'll probably still kill the hostages," Jake replied.

"Could he be lured out?" I asked.

"If he finds out that all the promises are a farce, it's over. Carter's a smart man. That's the problem. I'd seriously think about crashing the building," Jake replied as he rubbed his temples.

"Could we talk to Alex to see how the hostages are being kept?" I asked.

"What are you thinking, Nicky?" Jim asked confused by the syntax of my sentence.

"It's going to be easier to crash the building if he's closer to the door than the hostages," I commented.

"Nicky, you'd have to be the one to call in there. He already heard your voice," Brass cautioned, "Do you really want to do that?"

"If it's going to get this to end," I replied.

"I'll have the negotiator call in," Brass said as he opened his cellphone. Within a few minutes Brass handed over his cellphone to me.

"Allie, are you okay?" I asked hoping that time had given her enough solace to recompose herself.

"You need to get him out of here now," Allie replied. Her speech was slightly slurred. She whimpered as she talked. Allie sounded like a wounded animal. I remember Warrick once saying something about the crazy being able to make the sanest people crazy.

"Are you hurt?" I asked. My pulse was racing. I knew the answer before I asked it and before Allie told me that she was indeed hurt.

"Allie, are you near the door?" I asked her.

"No. Nick just make them get him his damn car. Just make this be over," Allie replied her voice raised. She sounded frantic, but I supposed after nearly seven hours, she had the right to be. I couldn't imagine spending seven hours wondering when I was going to die. I knew that was a reality for her.

I could hear him in the background telling Allie that things better start rolling. I heard him say something about getting the ball rolling himself. I could hear only parts of the conversation. The telephone hit the ground. I could hear someone begging for his life. Two shots . . . then silence. I couldn't move from where I was standing. Brass kept asking me what was going on. My mouth was so dry that I couldn't give him an answer.

"Get me my fucking car before I kill the other two," Carter screamed into the telephone before hanging it up.

"Nicky, what's going on?" Brass asked again. I put his cellphone on the table and backed away from it as if the cellphone was responsible for the happenings of the last fee seconds.

"Jim, get him his car," I said. I was gagging on the words. The sound of two gunshots echoed in my head.

"What happened?" Brass asked again. His face was drawn. He knew what happened.

"Carter shot one of them. I don't know who," I replied. Brass dropped his head. Jake threw the day planner on the ground.

"I'm calling in the feds. Let's just give him what he wants as fast as we can," Jake said as he pulled out his cellphone and began to dial.

It wasn't about the game for Carter. It was more about the control. I could hear the clock ticking . . . reminding me that time was almost up.

Alex's POV:

"Get on your knees. I'm serious about wanting a car. I don't get why they don't think I'm serious," Carter raved as he threw me down next to the two male hostages. We obediently lined up on our knees. Carter pointed the gun at us moving it from person to person as if he was playing a demented game of duck-duck-goose.

I hadn't prayed in years. I began to pray for my life. I immediately realized that if I didn't die one of the men that tried to protect me would. I began to pray that this would end quickly regardless of the outcome.

The man in the business suit began to tell Carter about his daughters. I wanted him to stop. I wanted to scream at him to stop. Duck-duck-duck-goose. Two shots were fired. I could feel the blood warm against my skin. My eyes were clenched closed. I wasn't sure who was shot. I wasn't sure if I was alive or dead.

The blood was warm against my knees. I opened my eyes to see the businessman beside me was now crumpled in a ball. Brain tissue was plastered on the walls and everyone in the room. There was still a fine mist of blood and gun powder in the air.

Carter backed away from the body as if he didn't realize that he was the one that killed an innocent man. Carter looked frantically at me and the young male that kneeled on the other side of the body. He screamed at us to get in the corner and not look at him.

We did as we were told. There was no point in fighting him. I fully expected him to shoot us execution style. I was surprised and terrified to hear our capture crying. The crying had become a full blown sob within seconds.

I prayed that someone would be wise enough to give Carter what he wanted.

Grissom's POV:

Brass woke me to give me the news about the shooting. I had fallen into a light sleep while in my office hiding from the reality of the situation. At first, I thought I was dreaming when Jim said two shots were fired. I was positive I was dreaming when Jim said that Jake was going to get the FBI to get Carter the vehicle and cash he was asking for. It took me a few minutes to realize that this was all for real.

I found Nick in the break room. Sara was curled on the couch sleeping. Nick was sitting next to her running his fingers through her hair. There was absolutely no emotion on his face. It was one of the most terrifying things that I had ever seen. Nick was hiding somewhere in the corner of his mind. He was badgering himself or maybe even torturing himself for leaving Alex in that coffee shop. Nick had come to the realization that there was nothing more that could be done by him to save her. He would have to leave the rest to the fates. Nick wasn't comfortable with the fates. Fate hadn't exactly been kind to him . . . after the baby-sitter, Nigel Crane, Glen Campbell, and that crazy woman that held the gun to his head.

I couldn't speak to him because I wasn't sure what to say.

"You should take Sara home. You two should rest. There is nothing else to be done," I said after watching him for a few minutes.

"I will," Nick replied robotically. I was positive that he didn't hear me.

"Nick, we can't do anything else. I've already sent Warrick and Catherine home," I replied.

"I tried to find an emergency contact number for her. I called the FBI and the LAPD. She never filled out that portion of her documents. I did a records search on her. She didn't have anyone. Her parents are dead. She never had any siblings. Allie was alone," Nick replied. The way he said 'was' chilled me to the core. He truly believed that she might just be the one that died.

"Grissom, I've got the armored vehicle and money arranged. The drop off is in half an hour," Jake said as he put on a pair of dark sunglasses.

"Does Carter know?" I asked.

"He should be releasing one of the hostages in five minutes. The last hostage will be turned over when he leaves the building to get in the armored car," Jake replied.

"That's it?" I asked.

"He's to be taken down the second he releases the last hostage. He's not driving away from this one," Jake replied coldly.

"I'm going with you," I said. I was the one that brought her into this mess. I should at least see that she got out of it.

"I'm going too," Nick said.

"No, you should take Sara home. She doesn't need to see any of this," I replied. I knew he wouldn't listen.

"Ready to roll, Malone?" Brass asked. I followed Jake and Brass down the hallway. I could hear Nick behind us. My guess was that he left Sara sleeping on the couch. We all loaded into my Denali.

Jake answered a ringing cellphone. The conversation was terse. He said that we could be there within minutes.

"Carter released a twenty-year old African American man unharmed. The kid is being debriefed right now," Jake said to no one in particular.

Nick's POV:

"You three stay here. Someone will let you know when the scene is clear," Jake said as he disappeared towards a large group of agents in SWAT gear. I watched him pull on a Kevlar vest of his own. It was surreal to watch.

The parking lot was illuminated by a spotlight shone from a helicopter that hovered above us. From just a brief survey of the scene, I could see there were multiple snipers stationed on the rooftops. The street was oddly quiet. It didn't feel like we were still in Las Vegas. It felt more like we were caught in a ghost town.

Brass quickly disappeared towards the negotiator. Grissom and I watched the armored truck park in its designated area near the backdoor of the coffee shop. It was fifty feet away from the back door. The door to the truck was left open. The engine was still running.

It seemed like hours before the door was flung open. Carter held Allie up by her waist. A small handgun was fixed to her temple. She hung in his arms a lot like a rag doll would. He was dragging her. She had on only one shoe. Her blonde hair looked brown and matted from where I stood. There seemed to be a copious amount of blood covering her body. From just looking at her, I wasn't sure if she was alive.

Carter all but tossed her to the ground. She immediately crumpled in a ball. The gunfire began and ended so quickly. There were five shots fired in rapid succession. One . . two . . three . . . four . . . five. Carter's body flailed wildly before collapsing not too far away from Allie. There was a mist of blood in the air. Carter's body didn't move anymore. It was really over.

A small army of men in SWAT gear ran over to the bodies. Jake scooped up Allie. She was limp in his arms. Her head bobbed uncontrollably as he carried her in the general direction of one of the ambulances. From what I could see, her eyes were still open. I couldn't tell if she was breathing, but there I could see a vacant look in her eyes. An arm hung twisted and deformed.

I watched the paramedics begin to attend to her. She didn't move. Allie didn't flinch when they touched her. It took me a minute to realize that I had run over to where Allie was being taken care of.

She was breathing. One of the paramedics kept saying that he couldn't believe that she was alive. The other commented that she was shocky. I had a hard time believing that she was alive. She didn't look alive.

Grissom said something about driving to the hospital. He asked me if I wanted to go with him. I followed him without another word.

I'm not sure how I got to the waiting room. I'm not sure how long Allie has been in surgery. I have no idea as to how Sara got here. She's holding my hand. Her hand is warm and moist. I just know that I'm in a hospital; I know that Jake keeps pacing the length of the waiting room. It's driving me crazy.

God, what have I done.


	9. Chapter 9

Grissom's POV:

She thinks she's invincible. Alex is too much like Sara. This is a situation that I always dreamt Sara would get herself into. I was so glad that it wasn't Sara . . . this time.

I've been in very few hospitals. I've never had many reasons to go to the hospital. My mother has been rather healthy despite her disability. I never knew my father. I never knew most of my family. My operation was the first time that I was patient in the hospital. My stay was short . . . only three days.

There is still a quality of surreal-ness to the scene. It was like being at a movie. I had a feeling of disconnection or maybe disbelief that this was the reality.

Alex was in surgery for four hours. The number four was a refreshing change from the number twelve. Rods were placed in her arm, and sutures closed the myriad of wounds on her face. A nurse washed the blood and the gray matter from her hair.

The body 'sleeping' in the hospital bed looks nothing like Alex. The face was bloated with gashes surrounded by nasty purple bruises. The arm was propped awkwardly next to her. The other arm was a mess of small cuts and scabs. It didn't look like her.

Jake sat next to her running his fingers through her hair. He occasionally opened his mouth to talk to her but stops before the words can escape his lips. Sara sat on the edge of her bed just watching the ventilator inflate and deflate Alex's lungs. Nick sat in the corner stoically watching the scene unfold. We waited.

Nurses had come and gone. Medical students occasionally came in to monitor the progress of their patient. They said encouraging things about the surgery. Two doctors have poked their head in. One of the physicians handed Jake an ice pack; the physician asked Jake to hold it to Alex's eyes . . . _it might make her a little more comfortable when she comes out of the anesthesia._ Jake asked them all the normal questions . . . _when will she wake up . . . how long will she be in the hospital . . . will she be in pain._ It was touching to watch. CSIs didn't have partners. I don't think we would ever understand the closeness and intimacy of that relationship.

Nick had stopped talking hours ago. He may not have been talking, but he was listening to everything we said. He was still blaming himself. I wondered what he thought he could have done to save her. There was nothing that could have changed how tonight played out. This was one of the first times in my career that I felt completely helpless. This might have been the first time that Nick realized that sometimes we cannot save the victim no matter how hard we try.

"I've been called out to Chicago. I leave in a few hours. Could you please take care of her until I can back for her?" Jake asked finally breaking the silence in the room. It probably killed him to have to say that. He took his duty as her partner extremely seriously; it had to have been really bad in Chicago if he needed to leave her.

"Of course. We'll take care of Alex," Sara replied. Her voice was guilt ridden. Alex was seemingly always hurt trying to protect us.

"She's a little mean when she's sick. She doesn't like to have her independence taken away," Jake explained. We all could have guessed that rather easily. "Be gentle with her. She needs someone to just treat her gently."

Sara's POV:

It was time for us to go back to work. I wanted to get away from the hospital; I wanted to get away from her bruises and broken bones. The longer I looked at them, the sicker I got.

We watched Jake say good-bye to Alex. She's wasn't awake yet, but he talked to her like she was. Jake ran his fingers through her hair. He momentarily ran his fingers along the outline of her jaw. It was so intimate that I needed to look away. Jake told her to behave; he said that he was so sorry that he needed to go. He said that he would be back for her as soon as possible.

"If she asks for me, this is my cellphone number. Thank you for helping her," Jake said as he slipped the small piece of paper into my hand. I nodded. Jake left the room without another word. If he had start talking about having to leave her, Jake might have lost all control over his guilt. God knows, if I began to talk about her, I might just melt down.

"We should get back to the lab," I said numbly without really meaning it.

"Catherine and Warrick said they'd come in early," Grissom said. The reply didn't necessarily indicate whether we were leaving for the lab or not. Grissom shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He finally stood up after appearing to have to think over this decision to leave.

"Nicky, you should stay with Alex. Let us know if she wakes up . . . how she's doing," Grissom said as he placed a hand on Nick's shoulder. Nick just looked up and nodded. Nick acted so much like he did years ago in the days following Kristi Hopkins' murder. I wouldn't approach him until Grissom left the room.

"Hey, you know I'm lucky, right?" I said as I kneeled in front of Nick trying to catch his line of gaze, "I'm lucky that you both got out alright." I didn't expect him to respond.

"Nick, I hope you realize that you are my hero. You ran into a casino with a bomb in it. You saved hundreds of people. You fought harder for Alex than I have ever seen a CSI fight," I said as I rested my hand on his arm. Nick looked down as if to consider what I was saying.

"I need to get back to the lab. You take care of yourself . . . take care of Alex," I said as I stood up. I ran my fingers along the profile of his jaw. He looked up at me. He smiled. It wasn't one of those big smiles that light up a room, but it was a smile. Nick was going to be okay.

"Hey, Texas. I love you," I said as I paused in the doorway.

"Sar, thanks. I love you too," Nick replied. His accent was so much thicker when he lets his guard down. I left hoping that he would take the time to hash out whatever he was thinking about before I came back for him.

Nick's POV:

I've been watching her sleep for hours. The doctor said something about keeping her in a deep sedation until some of the swelling is under control. The doctor said that they have been giving her pain medication so the pain is not disabling when she wakes up. I watched the medical student begin to assess her. His hands moved over her in a swift manner. The student's movements were delicate. He moved Allie as if she was a china doll.

I've been thinking about what Sara said. I didn't feel like a hero. I never felt like a hero. I've always tended to feel more on the helpless side of things. There were so many times that I didn't feel smart enough, fast enough, or brave enough. Tonight was one of those times.

I found myself remembering Allie. I could remember parts of her lecture that she gave two years ago in Chicago. I remembered some of the details of the case that she presented. I could even remember where she had attended undergraduate school and graduate school.

Part of me thought that I had ruined her. I had repeatedly dragged her into my problems. I had called her a year ago to ask her to find Sara. When Allie called me two weeks ago to find out about the bombings, I encouraged her to come back to Vegas. Every time I needed her, she came back into my life without any questions asked. I never asked her why she came back. I didn't want to know. I didn't want her reasons to validate these feelings that I secretly carried for her. I chalked to up to being confused. I chalked it up to Allie being too much like Sara or Sara being too much like Allie.

I held her hand. She deserved so much more than this confused sort of romance. I hoped that wasn't what brought her back to Vegas a second time.

She liked Sara. It made me feel even guiltier. Allie said that she respected Sara's talent as a CSI. Allie called Sara a strong woman. Last year before leaving Vegas, Allie told me that I should marry Sara. She told me that woman like that don't come along often. Allie said that before she disappeared. She never really disappeared. Her name seemed to litter the forensic journals. One night, I had turned on CourtTV and saw her smiling face on a special about forensic profiling. She seemed to be everywhere. It drove me crazy.

The last year had been a quiet year for Sara and me. We had settled into our new townhouse. She went to Texas with me to meet my family. My older brother told me that he had the pleasure of working with Allie on a case in Dallas last year. Sara smiled and told him about how she someday would like to work with Allie. Sara embraced my mother; she listened to my father talk about his job as a DA in Dallas. It was seemingly perfect.

Sara and I didn't have the paradise that everyone thought we did. Sara kept secrets. There were parts of her life that she pretended didn't exist. She wouldn't tell me why rape cases and domestic violence cases affected her so much; I had some good theories, but I wanted her to open up to me. I wanted to know Sara. There were some times when I was convinced that Sara would always be hiding something from me. I wondered if she didn't trust me. We had so many fights about that. I asked her to come clean with me. I even made myself the vulnerable one by telling her about what that baby-sitter did to me. Sara comforted me, but she couldn't make herself vulnerable. She seemed content with the shallowness of some areas of our relationship.

Allie asked me two nights ago if I loved Sara. She said that she could tell something was wrong. Allie offered to listen to me talk. I don't think I could have talked to her about Sara. It seemed wrong. I shrugged off Allie's concerns. Allie didn't buy it for a second. She said that relationships were work; they wouldn't be exciting without a few rough spots here and there. I guess two years ago Allie and I just weren't ready to put the work into being something more than two people that had a brief affair at a conference.

Every time Allie came back, I felt this confusion.

She squeezed my hand to let me know that she was awake. Her eyes were barely able to open; the swelling hadn't gone down as much as I had hoped it way. I watched her eyes dart around the room through the tiny slits that were her eyes. I called for the nurse, doctor, or medical student. It didn't matter who came into the room. I more concerned about getting her pain under control. I remembered my own pain being disabling after Nigel pushed me out of a second story window years ago. Remembering that pain was enough to make chills run down my spine.

"It's okay, Allie. It's okay," I said as I ran my fingers through her hair as Jake did a few hours ago . . . as I did two years ago. I could close my eyes and still remember everything about that night. Last year, Allie had described it to Sara as two trains passing in the night. Allie was career focused; I was searching for something greater in my life. We were on such different tracks in life. Sara was satisfied with that response. It seemed to put Sara at ease.

The doctor took the breathing rube out. He warned Allie to not speak for a while. The doctor said that her vocal cords would be inflamed for a few hours. He said that I could give her ice chips, but nothing more. I was happy to see the doctor disappear.

"Did the boy get out okay?" Allie immediately asked.

"He did. Brass took him to the station then drove him to his parent's house," I replied. I wasn't surprised that she wasn't at all concerned about her own health. Allie put everyone before herself. I wasn't sure if she was devoted or suicidal.

"I'm glad you're okay," Allie croaked as she tried to survey the condition of her arm.

"I'm okay. Everyone in the casino is okay. Has anyone ever told you that you are brave?" I asked. I picked up her hand gingerly and kiss it. She pulled her hand away as if my touch was fire. Despite the anesthesia, Allie was very aware that we were crossing boundaries that we should not even be mingling near.

"Nick, let's not do this," Allie said weakly. I was pretty sure that she didn't totally mean that. I was pretty sure that right now Allie just needed someone to take care of her.

"I'm sorry," I replied. I held a new ice pack to the side of her head. It looked like she had taken a nasty blow to her head. The bruise was a nasty purple. The cut was a deep gash that contained a myriad of stitches.

"Nick, I can't do this to Sara. I can't do this to you . . . I didn't come back here to screw up your relationship," Allie replied.

"You are a good person," I replied. Allie cringed as I placed the ice pack against her skin.

"You are too hard on yourself," Allie commented.

"You don't take good enough care of yourself," I replied.

"You are the only person on earth that actually believes that they have no worth . . . they aren't good enough," Allie retorted.

"You believe that you are superman," I replied.

"You are so damn passive-aggressive," Allie replied. She smiled at the game we were playing.

"You are too damn stubborn," I quipped.

"You are completely content in a city of sin and excess," Allie replied.

"Now you are just getting petty," I replied.

"We both should shut up . . . my throat hurts," Allie replied as she turned away from me as much as her broken body would allow. I let her fall back into sleep. Allie had set her boundaries; I should probably be thankful that she was so much more self-disciplined than I was.

The sins of the past always seemed to find their way to the surface.


	10. Chapter 10

Sara's POV:

"I tell you it's a damn war zone every time I step into that hospital room," I complained as I sat down in a chair across from Grissom. "You should consider telling Nick that he has to go back to work before Alex kills him."

"What's going on? They were fine yesterday when I stopped by," Grissom replied. He knew that he stopped by when Alex was asleep. I began to suspect that Alex would fake sleeping just so Nick would leave her alone. God knows, the thought had even crossed my mind this morning.

"Nick doesn't think Alex eats enough or takes enough pain medication. Alex thinks Nick is over stepping his boundaries. They are constantly bickering about something. This morning, they were fighting about whether or not it was safe for Alex to go outside for a little while," I complained. I had become thankful for work. Work was the only sanctuary that I had left. Nick and Alex always managed to drag me into their little wars. Alex was trying to reassert control over her life; Nick was trying to take care of her. Alex despised every moment that she needed to rely on others for her basic needs. They growled and snapped at each other worse than my brother and I did as children.

"Who won?" Grissom asked with a smile.

"Alex. Only because the doctor reassured Nick that her wounds wouldn't get infected, that the warm temperatures wouldn't dehydrate her, and that locusts would not fall from the sky and snatch her up," I replied.

"Locusts?" Grissom said with a smirk.

"I made that one up, but I'm sure Nick thought of something else completely insane," I replied, "Nick's threatening to make her go home with us when she's released."

"What's Alex's agenda?" Grissom asked obviously entertained by the entire situation.

"To recuperate in a hotel far away from Nick until it's safe for her to fly. You know blood clots and stuff," I replied.

"So what's your take on the situation?" Grissom asked.

"I might just move into the hotel with Alex," I replied with a sigh. If Nick ever complained that I went to extremes, he would be in trouble. I had never seen someone try so hard to heal another person. He tried to meet every one of her needs . . . even the ones that Alex hadn't thought of yet. Seeing his behavior, I prayed nightly that I would never get sick enough to receive that kind of attention from Nick.

"I'll call Nick and tell him it's time to come back to work. Hopefully, that will give Alex time to rest. Is there anything I can do to help you?" Grissom asked.

"Give me a tranquilizer gun so I can get Nick to simmer down a little bit," I replied without another thought. I had been thinking it for the last three days, but I didn't think I would ever vocalize it.

"I'll have him work a double tomorrow night," Grissom replied. I could have just about kissed his feet. It would give me time to rest without having to listen to Nick bitch about how insolent Alex was. I'm sure that Alex would find some monumental way to thank Grissom for getting Nick out of her hospital room.

"I might try to send Alex home with Greg. Greg offered her last night while Nick went to get coffee. Alex said that she didn't want to impose, but someone probably needs to stay with her until that arm is a little more manageable," I replied as I began to stand up. I was looking forward to spending some quality time with a corpse tonight . . . God knows, it wasn't going to talk back to me.

"Do what you need to. Let me know when you need Nick to work a double shift," Grissom said as he pushed some paperwork around on his desk. I was so thankful that I could always count on Grissom to make sure that I was well taken care of.

Nick's POV:

She spent the afternoon pretending to be asleep. Allie was so happy to be outside this morning; I was terrified that something would happen the second that we left the close watch of the nurses and doctors. I had anxiety reminiscent of the first day I was a cop in Dallas. I worried about what I would do if, or when, something fatal might arise. Allie told me to shut up and let her enjoy the gentle breeze and hot sun. She sat in the courtyard reading a worn copy of Macbeth that Grissom had dropped off earlier that morning.

Maybe it's that I wanted her to open up and tell me whatever it was that she was thinking. Maybe it's that I thought she needed someone to heal her. I don't know why exactly I obsess over the stupidest aspects of her medical care. I don't know why I feel a strange security when we fight over all these stupid things.

Last night, Allie said that there was no way that she would go home with me. I don't know if she meant it; I don't know if she realizes how important it is to me that I somehow try to fix her. I've been known to take on these projects. Warrick always teased me that I took on quite the project with Sara. Sara was convinced that I was doing the same thing with Allie. Maybe it's that I need her to need me.

Allie woke up in a rotten mood. Her nurse would change her arm and face dressings in the early afternoon. Allie prepared for the painful task by being as cranky and impossible as she could be. I sat with her on the first day, but I became sick to my stomach when I saw the metal rods piercing her flesh. I nearly passed out when I saw the tears roll down her face and painful grimaces each time her arm was manipulated. I had nightmares about the blood and drainage that night. Few people knew that I was very squeamish around blood. I left her in the early afternoon to have a meal with Sara before she went on shift.

I saw very little of Sara. I saw her in the morning when she would visit Allie bearing forensic science and psychology journals . . . or Vogue, Redbook, and Cosmopolitan. I saw Sara briefly for a meal in the early afternoon. I had begun sleeping at night, so I could be at the hospital most of the day. I had inadvertently put myself and Sara on completely opposite schedule.

I had also committed another crime. I had drug Sara into one of my arguments with Allie. Sara had refused to take sides because Sara said Allie should be allowed to recuperate where ever the hell she wants. I knew Sara was right. I knew that I was pushing Allie into a situation she clearly stated she did not want to be in. Maybe it's that I needed Allie to need me. Maybe it's that I felt like I owed her so much for keeping me out of harm's way.

Allie said that she was going to recuperate at a hotel. I told her that she needed someone to help her with her arm. Allie flatly denied that, but I was sure that she would come around after she realized that she would never be able to change her own dressings. Allie would feel helpless; she would feel so much like I did a few years ago after Nigel Crane pushed me from a second story window. I spent two weeks in Sara and Catherine's care; I hated every second of the helplessness that I felt, but I knew that I couldn't take care of myself on my own. I didn't want Allie to realize that she had been essentially abandoned in a hotel.

Greg had offered to have her stay with him. I found myself jealous of the way that he responded to Allie and the way Allie responded to him. I had to stop and remind myself that Allie wasn't mine to take care of. I had to remind myself that I had consciously made the decision two years ago not to pursue a relationship with Allie. Sex hadn't been a commitment; our brief fling was nothing more than a fling. The repercussions of casual sex were new to me. I never had casual sex despite what my coworkers might assume. My only experiences with casual sex, prior to Allie, were from living vicariously through my frat brothers.

"What's La Place's Law," Allie said aloud. She was pleased that she could still win at Jeopardy when she was doped up on a ton of pain medications. Allie didn't seem to mind that it was tournament for teenagers that she was playing along with.

"Are you still not talking to me?" Allie asked as the television show went to commercial. I had learned quickly that I was not to have a real conversation with her during Jeopardy. Grissom had his bugs, Allie had Jeopardy.

"Are you going to yell at me if I talk to you?" I asked cautiously.

"I don't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry, Nick," Allie replied. I wondered if this was Allie talking or if this was the opioids flowing through her veins talking.

"It's long since forgotten," I replied. Allie smiled. Well, she smiled as much as all the bruising would allow her to. "Something on your mind?"

"You should go back to work. I'm doing okay here. You should start spending more time with Sara," Allie said quickly.

"I want to stay here. I want to make sure that you are okay," I replied.

"You need to start spending more time with Sara," Allie said pointedly. She had me on that one. "Don't waste your time on a ghost, Nick."

With that last comment, she went back to playing Jeopardy. Allie had left me with a lot to think about. Maybe she was a ghost. She did disappear and reappear in my life with a whimsical quality. Maybe I never grieved the loss of Allie the way that I grieved the loss of Kristi. That was probably because I never thought of Allie as being gone. I thought of it more as a strange limbo that our relationship, or lack of a relationship, was stuck in. Allie had hinted that maybe it was time to find a way to make this friendship work . . . or just dissolve whatever relationship there was left. Allie wanted this to be done all for Sara's sake.

Two hours later, Grissom called me to ask if I would work a double shift tomorrow night. I agreed. I didn't realize that she would be gone before my shift was over. I didn't think that the FBI would fly her home to Los Angeles to receive medical care closer to her home base. I didn't realize how soon Allie would once again become a ghost.


	11. Chapter 11

Nick's POV:

She all but disappeared from the face of the planet. Allie called to say good-bye, but this time it was much more than good-bye – it was something that sounded much more final. She made her normal promises; Allie said that she would never set foot in Vegas again . . . she told me that I should marry Sara. I told her to be careful with herself. I asked her to give her heart to someone; to get lost in someone else the way I had gotten lost in Sara. I hoped that this time she would take my advice.

Allie occasionally was on television. Jake and Allie were the profilers on a few high publicity cases in the Midwest. They worked up a profiler on a serial killer that used thalidomide in Minnesota. They helped find a ten year old girl that was kidnapped in Idaho. She and Jake were the subject of an episode of a reality show that followed different law enforcement officers. I TiVo-ed the show only to watch it over and over again. I began to grieve her as I should have years ago.

Grissom had to call for a profiler once more. A five year old girl was kidnapped on her way home from school. There was no ransom note; the kidnapper never made contact with the family. The FBI brought in an old man that was nothing like Allie or Jake. He did his work quietly in the conference room. He worked fast and deliberately, but left Vegas before he knew whether or not we found the little girl. Grissom said that Allie and Jake were working in New Hampshire. We found out later that Jake had fallen victim to a tragic car accident when he and his wife were headed to a skiing resort in New Hampshire. Grissom said he had talked to Allie . . . she wasn't ready to start working solo just yet. We talked about sending flowers, but no one knew where to send them to. No one seemed to know where ghosts lived.

Sara and I had settled into a comfortable routine again. We worked together, ate breakfast together, and slept together. I had made myself vulnerable to her again and again in hopes that she might begin to tell me what made Sara Sidle tick. We had made so much progress in that area. Sara had given me a few cryptic glimpses into a childhood that was marred by violence and abuse, but as soon as the details overwhelmed her, Sara shut down.

Sara and I had gone on vacations together; we went to weddings together. She had even brought up the subject of marriage once or twice over coffee in the morning. I had brought up the subject of children, but Sara promptly told me that she couldn't be a mother. She was so afraid of becoming her parents. My dreams of three children and a dog were slowly being degraded. That was probably why I was always so hesitant to pick out a ring. God knows I went to the jewelry store once every six months with the intention of picking out an engagement ring for Sara, but I was patient. I was willing to be patient with Sara; I knew I had faults that Sara showed more than enough patients towards.

Sara and I walked the Strip. It was one of our rare nights off. We had gone out for dinner; we were headed for a show that Sara wanted to see. Sara normally didn't like the shows. She said that they degraded women or that the conditions were not suitable for live animals. I couldn't believe that Sara managed to live in Vegas for nearly ten years without going to a single show.

"Well speak of the devil," Sara said with a smile, "I thought Alex swore that she would never set foot in Vegas again." She waved at them.

She looked like a different woman. Allie looked amazingly put together. I think Sara once called it 'Professional-Chic,' whatever the hell that means. She didn't look happy, but she looked like she might have regained some control over her life.

She walked with Greg close by her side. They were engaged in some sort of conversation . . . deep enough so they didn't even notice that they were approaching Sara and me. When Allie looked up, she smiled.

"What ever happened to never coming back to Vegas?" Sara asked.

"I've never been to Vegas for pleasure. This is far from a working-vacation," Allie teased, "But I do come with sinister motives." Greg smiled and shifted a little uncomfortably.

"I'm leaving the lab," Greg simply stated, "Alex is going to train me to be a profiler."

I stood still shocked; I don't think Sara was able to move either. It was hard to imagine a lab without Greg, without loud heavy metal, and without the scent of Blue Hawaiian coffee wafting through the air. Despite all that was running through my head, I congratulated Greg.

"After Jake . . . you know, I need someone to keep me out of trouble," Allie said as she cast her eyes down on the pavement.

"How long are you in Vegas for?" I asked.

"A few days. Long enough to help Greg pack . . . long enough to see what the tourist side of Vegas is like," Allie replied.

"We're headed to the fountains to watch the water show. You want to come?" Greg asked. Greg tried to smile at me. We walked with them to the fountain. Sara and Allie talked about work. Greg told me about the classes he would be taking at one of the FBI field offices. He told me that Grissom had already approved his resignation. Greg said he hadn't planned to have to tell anyone until Monday, his last day.

We watched the water show silently admist the 'ooh's and ah's' of the tourists. I watched how Greg took care of her; he wrapped his suit jacket around her shoulder after Allie said she couldn't believe how cold the nights here were. I knew he would take good care of her. Knowing that made it a little easier for me to let go. She obviously didn't need to me try to fix her anymore.

Later that night, I asked her if she would ever come back again. She said that's what ghosts do . . . she said that's what friends do. Allie explained that what had always been tragic was slowly turning into something worth waiting for. She said despite all that happened in Vegas and the untimely death of her partner, Greg had an energy that began to rejuvenate her. She said it was a charisma that she rarely saw in profilers anymore. Allie said she needed that charisma in her life . . . otherwise, it was too easy to fixate on everything that had gone wrong somewhere along the way.

Allie asked me how I was doing. I told her that things were progressing slowly, but surely. I told her that I was happy. I told her that I spent the last few months learning how to leave the past in the past. It had been hard to relinquish my obsessive hold on the baby-sitter, Nigel, and Allie. I had been trying to get Sara to also begin to leave all her demons in the past. I told Allie that I was doing good.

FIN


End file.
